


we tried the world; good god, it wasn’t for us

by agentpolastri



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: 3x08, Angst, F/F, Heavy Angst, i got angry so have angst., this is in response to the bridge shit, villanelle thinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentpolastri/pseuds/agentpolastri
Summary: They jumped together. When do they not?
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 21
Kudos: 86





	we tried the world; good god, it wasn’t for us

The only thing that soothes Villanelle when she crashes into icy darkness is the familiar weight of Eve’s body clutching tightly to hers.

Here is what Villanelle knows. 

The London Bridge is 269 metres long. The ornate lamps are made out of the remnants of Napoleon Bonaparte’s canons. It’s full of thousands of shitty bats that hang underneath it like a predator in the dark. Eve is currently clinging to Villanelle like a lifeline. Eve is Villanelle’s lifeline. She pretends not to know it, but there is a certain glint in those brown eyes of hers that give away a deeper awareness that the assassin wants to reach in and scoop out and cradle in her hands. Eve is weighing the two of them down into the depths of the River Thames with her stupid parka jacket. 

_Is that a sweater attached to a shirt? Is it two separate pieces? How does it work?_

Villanelle thinks that her and Eve are something like that hideous sweater-shirt she donned in the kitchen that day. 

They are two pieces that really, by convention, should never have met. They are unnatural and perhaps even a little (a lot) deformed, and every stitch that went into joining them together is a stitch closer to social suicide. Or fashion suicide. Or actual death. She isn’t sure how far she can take this metaphor about ugly sweater-shirts. 

Here is what Villanelle knows. 

The River Thames is 20 metres deep, give or take 5 metres. It is colder than that time Villanelle had to seek refuge in a fish freezer to get safe passage to France. It is blacker than the pupils of the long list of kills she has committed. It is somehow deeper than any soul she has watched get sucked into a dead politician’s eyes. It is not deeper than Villanelle’s love for Eve. 

Villanelle loves Eve. Eve stabbed Villanelle. Villanelle shot Eve. Water is wet. Blood is red. Eve loves Villanelle sometimes, like when she runs after her train and raises a hand in silence when she realizes she will not catch the mouse this time, even with how agonizingly close she got. Eve loves Villanelle sometimes, like when she sits next to her on the bed with that look that says she’s about to climb into the most hideous parts of Oksana and bury herself in there because she needs to but most importantly she _wants_ to. Eve loves Villanelle all of the time but never says it directly, but she does smoothly defend her with honeyed words in the face of Dasha’s monstrous superiority complex and the sharp fangs of her hubris. 

Eve loves Villanelle, even when she lands a solid, crunchy hit against the sharp of her jawline and tries to use her body as a battering ram in any attempt to cause the same amount of pain that Villanelle has caused her time and time and again. Eve loves Villanelle when she is pinned by her weight and gasping in her face and breathing the same air and Villanelle never thought that she would be focusing on the exact amount of molecules between their lips but that’s exactly what happens until it crash lands into a stark number of 0. She counts the seconds and the milliseconds and the even-smaller-than-that seconds that Eve stares into her soul and presses her lips and did Eve always have that scar there? Did she exfoliate very often because up this close she can see—

Here is what Villanelle knows. 

Their bodies descend like cinderblocks through razor-like water that grabs and screams and shakes them in its fury. London is angry at them, or so it seems. The Twelve is certainly angry at them. The world is angry at them. They really made quite the pair, didn’t they? Look at them, locked in themselves, clicking in their seatbelts for their last wild goose chase except that they have caught each other for a while now and it really was a shame that this was how it was going to end. 

But wasn’t this always how it was supposed to end? 

Eve’s gaze is sympathetic and accepting and temporarily obscured by some air bubbles leaving her mouth. She does not look towards the surface where certain chaos is currently transpiring, she does not look around for an unlikely exit, she does not look below to anticipate what would probably be a portal to one of the seven circles of Hell. Eve does not look anywhere except for Villanelle, and this is how Villanelle knows that, secretly, they have won. In their own twisted way, they both got what they wanted. 

Eve reaches out like she has been since forever. There is no game of tug-of-war here, no back-and-forth, this is Eve undiluted and wonderful and simply loving Villanelle. Her fingers feel like a cold trickle on Villanelle’s cheek but she has always been the type to drink the melting water from icicles anyways. 

Here is what Villanelle knows. 

Villanelle knows that Eve knows that this is their final dance. Too bad that their second dance had to be the last one, their second date the last one, the last, the last, the last of everything. 

_I’m going to find the thing you love—and I’m going to kill it._

_Killing Eve,_ Villanelle thinks numbly. Her lungs have been hurting for quite a while now, and Eve’s grip on her has been steadily loosening. She never was a great swimmer, was she? 

Here is what Villanelle knows. 

On average there is about one body pulled from the Thames each week. This time, there will be two. 

At least they will be smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> i’m @topeve on tumblr :^) come say hi!  
> let me know what you thought in the comments.


End file.
